


just as well

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, MASSIVE THROWBACK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 07:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: a leetle bit before xabi commits the original sin, cough leaves liv, so circa 2009. if death cab for cutie can come out with an album in the year of our lord 2k18, then ..





	just as well

**Author's Note:**

> a leetle bit before xabi commits the original sin, cough leaves liv, so circa 2009. if death cab for cutie can come out with an album in the year of our lord 2k18, then ..

Towards the end of season he’d invited Xabi out for drinks, in front of the whole locker room too, after a match when everyone was still breathing hard and trying to get all their clothes off fast to get to the best shower cubicles. 

Xabi’s peeling his socks off, stacking up his shin guards. Stevie leans across and says, casual, because he’d done it a million times already today, mumbling at his steering wheel when he drove in in the morning, “Get a drink at the pub later?” 

Carra heard, obviously. Carra sat on Stevie’s left, Xabi two seats further down. Xabi gives Stevie a fleeting look, kind of assessing. He nods, mumbles something that could’ve been Sure and flips his towel over his shoulder. 

Stevie concentrates on the slap of Xabi’s flip flops as he walks away, and Carra doesn’t say anything. 

He leaves a healthy amount of time for Carra to comment before he grabs up his shower caddy, but of course it’s not until he’s almost out of the room before Carra says, “You won’t change his mind, Stevie.” 

I’m not trying to sounds a bit flat so Stevie doesn’t say it. 

-

It wasn’t a pub. Stevie had known it would end up being some upscale-ish restaurant when he’d made his offer, because Xabi only deigned to go to the pub as part of a pack, snug in the middle of the team and nicely buoyed on celebratory champagne already. It’s a ritual, he supposes. Xabi hadn’t been around in the old days, when it was just Michael and Carra and Stevie and Robbie too. It’d been alright, if it was just the Liverpool lads. It was like everyone gave them space, for a night, or however long they needed it, as though everyone knew it was what they needed. To be reminded of their mortality, once in a while. 

It’s strange, thinking about the times before, even more so now with Xabi sitting in front of him, wearing a Polo. His hair looked wet and stuck down, even though he’d showered after the match, ages ago. Maybe it was some sort of gel, although it doesn’t sound quite right. Stevie wanted to reach out and touch it, pinpoint the right texture in his mind. Stevie’s wearing a t shirt, one of the less distressed ones, even though Alex keeps telling him it’s the new craze. 

Xabi looks up at him, smiles a bit. Stevie coughs. 

“What do you want?” he asks. It wasn’t supposed to sound accusatory but it somehow comes out so. He feels a flush rising up his neck and tries to think cool thoughts. The rain. Wind in the stands at Anfield. 

 

Xabi looks back down, squints at the menu thoughtfully, and announces he’ll try the beef tonight, even though he’d always ordered the chicken here. It’s good to be adventurous, he says, smiling up at the server who’s blushing at him. Stevie looks at him and gets beef, too, feeling like he’s paranoid, playing a game that isn’t even a game save inside his own head. 

 

-

 

After they leave the restaurant it’s not quite dark yet, Xabi pointing out a flock of clouds over the orangey red sunset that looked like sheep. They stand next to each other, awkwardly, before Stevie makes up his mind. 

“Come on,” he says, and jingles his keys. He sets off, and Xabi jogs to keep up. 

“Where are we going?” he says. Stevie sneaks a look at him, and his eyes were bright. Maybe he’s curious. He just walks faster and shakes his head in reply, and Xabi laughs, the full out laugh he gives sometimes, unexpected. 

 

He shouldn’t have been, really. Stevie’s not an adventurous sort, is he, hometown boy who’s never left the city he was born in, kisses Alex with his eyes closed and turns the light out when they’re in bed. He drives them to Anfield, and sits there in the car park in the corner with no streetlights and leaves the keys in the ignition. 

He hears Xabi sigh, next to him, in the dark. He’s left both his hands on the wheel and Xabi reaches out, touches the back of his hand gently. 

“It’s not settled, you know,” he starts. Stevie lets him continue, but it’s like Xabi knows. At least between the two of them, Stevie had always assumed he knew. 

“It’s the summer, Xabs,” Stevie says, and Xabi leans across and buries his face in Stevie’s neck. 

“Just drive us home, Gerrard,” he says. 

 

-

Later on he’s standing in his own back garden with the lights from the living room on and Xabi standing on the steps, just a shadow limned in gold. 

“Ready?” Xabi yells, and Stevie throws him the football. Xabi gets one touch- two- and he jumps off the steps onto the lawn, starts running. He’s barefoot, and Stevie laughs, gives a few seconds more of a head start before he chases. 

Stevie’s backyard is not as big as a football field, but it’s bigger than the pitches they have in melwood for five-a-sides, and Xabi’s tearing across the soft grass Alex has the gardener come in every week to maintain. The ball’s between his feet, flashing pale white in the soft dark. The air smells rich, like loam, and the grass is wet. 

He gets to Xabi because Xabi stumbles, and in the second before impact Stevie makes a decision, maybe, or maybe his body makes a decision for him. He pulls back from the tackle, a foreign concept, even in training, bends his knee early and leans his own strength on his arm, lands hard. Xabi goes down anyway, of course, and he’s panting, swearing at Stevie in spanish and laughing so hard it comes out of him in bursts. 

They roll away from each other, and lie there, until Xabi raises his head. “I scored anyway.” 

Stevie looked even though he didn’t need to, the ball sitting snug in the corner of his plastic goal post. 

He can still feel the hardness of the impact, the way he pulled back, and thinks about if he’d crashed into Xabi, broken an ankle maybe, what that would’ve accomplished. He feels the grass burn on his elbow and the places where he’d touched Xabi and how all this boiled down to the two of them, in the dark. 

He rolls over on to his elbows, ignoring the pain, and kisses Xabi. 

 

Xabi’s hands come up, into his short hair, tugging at the ends, his thumb fitting snugly behind Stevie’s ear. The night insects hum quietly in the bushes around them.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! <3


End file.
